“I just read a report from the city police about that pusher that got beat up. That apartment on West Wellington I told you about was his. They searched it, and found all sorts of paraphernalia for weighing, cutting and packaging dope…mostly heroin and opioids.”
Andy perked up. “A link to the big boys?”
“They think he’s small time. Name is Randy Parsons. The quality of his stuff isn’t what we’ve been seeing. Also, mostly counterfeit oxy. No high-quality fentanyl that’s been causing most of the overdoses.”
“So, that’s a bust,” she lamented. “Wait. What about the guys who attacked him?”
“What about them?”
“Well, it seems probable that whoever jumped this guy was the competition; maybe the people we want. If we can get our victim to ID them—”
“Worth a shot. You want it?”
“Bet your life. It’s better duty than tailing pushers around Station Mall, which is where you’re headed.”
“You got that right,” Terry allowed.
Fourteen
There was no guard at the door of Randy Parson’s hospital room. Once inside, Andy knew why. This person wasn’t about to go anywhere. His body had been brutally assaulted.
Both legs were in plaster casts as were his arms, including the hands. Whoever did this was going for maximum pain. The medical report Andy had read at the nurse’s station indicated five broken ribs, broken fingers on both hands, a clean break in one leg, and a spiral fracture in the other, and a ruptured spleen. The beating was obviously a clear message not only to the recipient, but to his associates.
“Can you talk?” she began.
“A little.” The response came with a wince, likely from the pain in his chest. Andy had fractured a rib playing hockey for U of Toronto and knew how painful it was.
“I won’t be long,” she said. “I’m Detective Blake.” She showed him her shield. “I need the names of the persons who attacked you.”
He pressed his lips into a sardonic smirk. “Just one.”
“One person?”
His words came slowly. “If I knew his name, I wouldn’t tell you. I know he’d kill me.”
“Then at least describe him.”
His eyes closed as if gearing up for another painful bout of talking. “Under six feet…short black hair…big bushy eyebrows.” He paused, either thinking or resting. “Lots of tats.”
“Tattoos? Describe them.”
“Don’t know… arms… all over… too many… oooh!”
“Okay, that’s enough. Look, I’m going to have an officer come in with some ident software to see if we can get an image of this guy. Your cooperation will go a long way in your hearing.”
His eyes remained closed. Either asleep or faking it, Andy didn’t care. That was all she was getting from him for now.
On the way out, she showed ID at the desk and asked about Parson’s status. The nurse consulted a flat screen, gave Andy a grave look, and said, “Critical.”
~ * ~
Urban was hard at it on his own computer, feeling the first pangs of hunger. The clock on the corner of his screen read 5:45. He hadn’t considered, when he converted his business to Bitcoin, how much time would be required to keep up with its volatile exchange rate. A day’s take from the States could vary by several hundred… sometimes thousands of dollars.
It hadn’t seemed like that much time had elapsed since Savos left from their session. It was time to order something in for dinner, though who knew what the kid would be willing to eat tonight. It seemed there was always something that set him off when food was involved. Maybe a plain cheese pizza.
He closed his laptop and went to Joey’s room to see if that would fly. The room was empty. A book he’d been looking at lay open on the floor near the window.
“Joey!” he yelled. Shit. Where is that kid? He’d seen him shortly before Savos had arrived. He began to search.
Urban’s house was not as large as it appeared. He’d built a rambling ranch that sprawled on marshy land near the river, hence the builder had opted for a cement slab in lieu of a basement. All the rooms were on one level. Much of the building’s size was accounted for by an over-large living and dining room to facilitate anticipated entertaining of legitimate clients and city fathers.
Otherwise, the rooms consisted of the kitchen and three bedrooms, one of which he used as his office. Joey had few places to hide. He must be outside, Urban thought. It would be dark not too much later.
The front yard was empty, and the boy did not respond to his name when Urban called to him from the rear of the house. The view of the river was devoid of any activity. He’s hiding, Urban reasoned. The kid was getting defiant lately. He returned to the house to call in the pizza order, sure in his belief that the boy would get hungry and come home by dark.
~ * ~
Eddie was speechless. Standing in the open door stood this boy who was completely out of context with the surroundings.
“Who are you?” he heard Marly saying.
The boy looked past her to him, and said, “Eddie! T-Taurus man!”
“Little dude,” Eddie reminded himself aloud.
The boy’s head bobbed up and down. “Eddie and Joey! Eddie and Joey!”
“Jesus!” Eddie was running his fingers through his hair.
“What’s going on?” Marly demanded.
“Oh Jesus, the kid!”
Joey pushed past Marly and stood close to Eddie, all the while staring doubtfully at Marly. “S-tranger,” he said.
“No, Joey. That’s Marly.” He saw Marly smile down to the boy, her hands on her knees.
“Hi Joey. Can we be friends?”
“You have a th-ing on your face.” He pointed.
“Yeah. It’s called a stud. I like it. Do you?”
“No.”
“Hey!” Eddie remonstrated.
“It’s okay,” Marly said.
“No, it ain’t. That wasn’t polite, Joey. How did you get here?”
A grin from Joey. “Eighty-six Taurus; two-point-five liter.”
“In my car? How—”
Another big grin.
“This is the kid from some rich guy’s house I went to for Nick.”
“Today?” Marly asked.
“No. That’s what I can’t figure.” He paused, then said, “That must be where Nick went. He used my car today.” Eddie turned to ask Joey if he hid in the car, but the boy had disappeared. “Joey!” he called, but no response.
Marly closed the door. “Eddie, why would he get in your car?”
“I got no idea…except—”
She waited.
“Except maybe the cars, the Hot Wheels.”
“What?”
“I told him I had a whole mess of them from when I was a kid. He’s kinda into them, I think.”
“Well, he can’t stay here. Take him home. You know where?”
“Yeah, okay.” Eddie walked out of the kitchen and yelled “Joey!”
“We should call his parents,” Marly said.
“I got no idea what their name is,” Eddie admitted. “Joey!” He called again.
“Let’s find him. You look in the basement. I’ll look upstairs.”
Eddie found nothing in his basement apartment and was on his way back up when he heard Marly call.
~ * ~
It took a little time, but she found him in the rear bedroom crammed with boxes and assorted furniture. He wasn’t hiding but crouched behind a crate paging through an old Rand McNally atlas.
“Joey. Hi. What are you doing?
“Burma?” he said, pointing to a map of Asia.
“Yes,” Marly said.
“No, Mmm…yanmar.”
“Okay, let’s go downstairs.”
“New name. In nn…ineteen eighty-nine.” He returned his attention to the atlas.
“Right. Joey, we need to get you home.”
“Sss…tay here with Eddie.”
Eddie appeared at the bedroom d
oor. “No, little dude, come on down now.”
“I like it here.”
“Tell ya what,” Eddie began, “I’ll show you my Hot Wheels collection. It’s downstairs.”
That seemed to work. Joey looked up to see if Eddie meant what he said.
Watching this, Marly said, “I hope you can follow through with that promise. He needs to trust us.
“Don’t worry,” Eddie assured. “I’ve got a ton of ‘em.”
She followed them down to Eddie’s basement lair. The place smelled of mildew, much like every cellar she’d ever been in. Small windows along one side were dark. An overstuffed couch, a table holding a dirty plate and an open lap-top computer were the only furnishings other than an unmade single bed.
Eddie was busy searching through an old chest for something. Joey was occupied with a comic book he’d found.
She said, “You live in this rat hole?”
“It’s all I need.” He pulled a plastic box from the chest.
“That computer work? You have internet?”
“Kinda.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I use my neighbor’s wi-fi. An old guy. Lives alone. Gave me his password so I could fix his email.”
“You have wi-fi and didn’t tell me?”
Eddie shrugged. “Let’s go up, Joey. I got somethin’ to show ya.”
Fifteen
“It’s getting late,” Marly was saying, but Eddie had been enjoying his time with Joey. He’d trotted out his boyhood collection of Hot Wheels, still neatly put away in their sectioned container. Joey had found one he christened “Twenty-Four” and favored it among the rest of the toys, all in near-new condition.
“Tell ya what, Joey. I’ll let ya keep the car, but ya gotta go home now.”
“I want to s-tay here! I like it here! I don’t like that house!”
“You can’t stay here, Joey—”
He began to breathe in gasps, grabbing the car, and fleeing up the steps.
“Well, that worked,” Marly said.
Eddie gave pursuit and found him in the spare room, hunkered in a corner.
“Okay, that’s enough, Joey. Let’s go.” He reached for the boy’s hand.
“Nooo!” The boy screamed and rolled into a knot, clutching the toy car.
“Jesus, kid! Cut that out!” He grabbed for him.
“Eddie.” It was Marly. “Stop.” She’d come up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Let me do this.”
Eddie let her take his place by Joey, who was red-faced and crying.
She sat on the floor next to Joey, saying nothing, stroking his back. Not immediately, but in time the sobbing subsided and before long Marly had her arm around him, his head on her chest.
“Christ, Marly! How’d you—”
“Shh.” She motioned to Eddie to be quiet, and to Joey she said, “Okay you’re safe now. Don’t worry about anything.”
Eddie was amazed. He’d seen the meltdown at the boy’s house; the father’s inability to calm the boy. It was impressive how easily she’d calmed him.
Minutes later Joey was again occupied with the toy car he called “Twenty-four.”
“So, what are your magic powers?” Eddie asked.
“It reminded me of my brother,” she said. “He would get the same way, almost every day. Everyone would try to calm him down when he had a meltdown, but what I found he really needed was to feel safe. I was the only one who seemed to get that. I used to do the same thing with Tim.”
“So, what now?” Eddie wondered aloud.
“You gotta find his folks and bring them here. I’m not going to force that kid into your car now that he trusts me.”
It was the last thing he wanted to do, but she was right. He had no phone number, no name, just an address on Queen St.
~ * ~
It was dark by the time Eddie backed the Ford out of the garage and headed for Bay St. and East Queen. It was a fifteen-minute drive to the mailbox with the numbers in reflective tape. He turned into the drive to find an empty patrol car blocking the way, its lights flashing.
Two or three people, possibly neighbors, were there. Eddie asked from his opened window, “What’s going on?”
“They say a child is missing’” an older woman offered.
“What?”
“I hear the man has a lot of money. They think it could be a kidnapping.”
A bolt of fear seized him. “A kidnapping!”
“Yes. Are you a friend, or something?”
“No!…uh, I’m a…messenger.”
He reversed and headed back toward town. He could barely think, much less drive, and pulled to the curb. Thoughts of being traced by the guy in the house back to Nick Savos dominated his mind. He sat there, thinking, for more minutes before continuing home.
~ * ~
“You what??” Marly was astonished. She’d spent that time alone with Joey discovering he was knowledgeable far beyond his years. They had moved from his amazing grasp of geography to science, particularly the human anatomy. She found he was a voracious reader.
“I had no choice!” Eddie was beside himself. “What did you expect? I go tell that guy I have his kid? They’d find out I work for Nick. They’d think we nabbed the kid and got cold feet. Whatever, there’s no way I was going back in there.”
Marly tried to think of an argument counter to this logic but came up empty.
A smiling Joey came bounding down the stairs, holding his car. He sobered when he saw Eddie, probably sensing the tension. “I want to stay here. I like it here.”
Marly said to Eddie, “We’ve got to think about what we’re going to do!”
But the evening dragged on without a solution. Marly fixed up a place for Joey to sleep. By the end of the day it occurred to her that any rational assessment of their status would deem it a kidnapping.
Sixteen
Andy hadn’t heard from, nor tried to call Grant Stacey, since hearing of his return to Hilton Head, South Carolina and his intention to purchase a house there. If he hadn’t cared enough about her feelings to call her about it, it certainly wasn’t up to her.
She did not know how to gauge her feelings. She’d known Grant all her life except for the twenty-some years she was away at school, getting married, divorced, raising a wonderful son to adulthood plus managing a career. The last seven years with Grant back in her life had gone well, but were they all she wanted? …needed?
Those thoughts had badgered her all morning as she wrote up her notes on her interview with the injured drug pusher. She’d arranged for a Photofit photo composite to be made of the perpetrator from the victim’s description, hoping he was not too threatened to give an accurate one.
Terry was with the Sault police who were sifting through that Wellington Street address of the victim. Andy glanced at the time. She was due to meet the good Doctor Campbell for lunch and wondered how much value she’d garner from this meeting, thinking it might just be a lark on his part.
~ * ~
To Andy’s mild surprise and relief, the luncheon with Kevin Campbell was quite informative, though she wasn’t certain how helpful it would all be in the interdiction of opioids in the Sault area.
She arrived to find him waiting in front of the converted hundred-year-old brick home. He was dressed in grey slacks, blue blazer and an open white shirt. Andy could not deny she liked what she saw.
“Playing the doorman?” she said, walking up the front steps.
“At your service, madam.” He doffed an imaginary hat. “I’ve got a table outside on the terrace, if that’s okay with you.”
The weather had turned unseasonably warm and Andy welcomed the choice.
“So, what have you got for me?” she asked, once they were seated and menus were dealt.
“We more or less touched on the tip of the iceberg the last time we talked. You might recall me talking about carfentanyl at my lecture. Other derivatives are more dangerous only because they’re more available. Th
ere is a myriad of drugs out there using fentanyl-like molecules as a base. Probably the most insidious one is called cyclopropyl fentanyl. These designer drugs are responsible for an alarming number of deaths since emerging in the Soviet Republics and Europe.
“Do they come in tablets?”
Most of them are delivered as enhancements to other drugs. Fentanyl and its derivatives can be found in marijuana, cocaine, heroin, or simply mixed with a benign excipient…Tums is a popular one.”
“What about this area? Anything special?”
A waiter arrived for their order before Campbell continued. “The stuff we’ve seen here that is causing most of the overdoses is a very pure grade of fentanyl. The oxycodone is bad enough, but the fentanyl is finding its way as a potent additive to those and other drugs, as I’ve explained. In many cases the compounder has poor to fair quality control, exacerbating the overdose occurrences. Just a few extra grains of fentanyl in a fake oxy pill can spell overdose.”
Andy was getting a better idea of how hard it was to track the trafficking of a material potent enough for a very small amount to bring in large sums of money.
Campbell went on to tell her what he’d been up to since arriving from Sudbury. “We’re working on better ways to deal with the overdoses. You know about Narcan, I’m sure.”
Andy did, indeed. All the O.P.P. vehicles were equipped with the kits. She and Terry had begun keeping kits in their private cars.
Campbell explained, “That’s a nasal spray. We’re working with the EMTs and—we hope soon—all agencies to carry Suboxone. It’s easy to administer, just taken under the tongue or cheek.”
He told her of how he’d been asked to lead a task force to better address the unprecedented incidence of opioid overdoses in the Sault area. “It’s largely due to lack of jobs,” he said. “Sault Ste. Marie unemployment hovers around ten percent, twice that of other parts of Ontario. The big employer is the steel plant, operating at probably one quarter capacity.”
Andy knew this, but it was uncomfortable to hear just the same. The Sault was a big part of her life.
She stabbed at the salad that had just been served and changed the subject. “How did you get into this game?”
Steel Town Page 7
